The Bus

The thickest smog that I’d ever seen

Came down as I caught the bus,

It swirled on down from the chimney tops

And mixed with the fog at dusk,

The factories belched out sulphur

And the houses burned black coal,

Whenever the fog came down back then

It ate right into your soul.

 

The bus took off with its fog lights on

And the lights were on inside,

The passengers faces all were dun

And grey on that long, slow ride,

We couldn’t see more than a yard ahead

So the bus just idled along,

A couple of lads said ‘lighten up!’

And burst right into a song.

 

It took an hour to cover a mile

I thought I’d never get home,

The world had shrunk to a dim-lit bus,

There wasn’t a telephone,

We’d gone two hours and were nowhere near

The place that I had to go,

Some of the others decided to walk

The bus was going so slow.

 

The bus conductor finally went

To walk ahead of the bus,

The driver could see the back of his cap

Through the fog, but only just,

We ambled on at a walking pace

I heard a barking dog,

Then jumped on down from the ambling bus

Caught deep in the devil’s smog.

 

I kept myself to the nearside kerb

I could feel it underfoot,

And walked on past the conductor

Walked as fast as I thought I could,

I couldn’t see anything up ahead

I knew what it was to be blind,

But felt my way in a bleak dismay,

Scared to be left behind.

 

I passed a car, parked at the kerb

But only by sense and feel,

I ran my hand on the duco, then

I stumbled beside the wheel,

I’d gone ahead, a number of yards

When I heard the bus go ‘crump’,

And a muffled scream like a furtive dream

Made me turn in shock, and jump.

 

The bus was pinned to the back of the car

The conductor in between,

I walked up close in the swirling fog

And then I began to scream,

For blood was pouring out of the mouth

Of the man, crushed flat in the dark,

And the driver, he was hysterical,

As he backed the bus from the car.

 

I was only a schoolboy then

In a city of smogs and mist,

It took two hours to walk on home

I was crying, fit to burst,

My father waited out by the gate

And said, ‘You’re safe, thank God!’

But I threw up on the pavement, then

Cried: ‘Where was He in the smog?’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Scott S]

Hi David,

I found this piece by chance, and am so grateful that I did. This is a wonderful work, in my opinion. As Katie Lynn stated, you have created a story here with a fabulous poem. I love the way that you created the eerie scene with the elements of dark and fog. I actually could see myself at the scene you created, and for a writer to be able to grip his readers like that, is truly good work, sir. I really liked the religious twist/question at the end. I look forward to reading more of your material. Take care.

[Valentine]

Wondering where in the world you keep coming up with these tales..For a minute I could not figure out if you meant He..the Heavenly Father or the little boys father???Love Kathie

[David Lewis Paget]

Basically a true story, this one, back in Birmingham circa 1957. And yes, the conductor was crushed when he walked into the back of a parked car. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face.

[Valentine]

Wow..you have a great memory or else you read an awful lot of historical things..Love Kathie

[Mark]

Another Paget masterwork, where we are so smoothly led into the world of the narrator that we fail to notice we have arrived at a cul-de-sac, just across from the Twilight Zone, awaiting the inevitable tweak on the a*s Dave's ghoulies will shortly proffer! I will need to know what a "duco" is, however...

[David Lewis Paget]

Hi Mark, 'duco' is a type of paint we used to re-spray our cars with, back in the 60's and 70's as I remember. I think it's out of favour these days because it was a soft paint, and easily marked, much softer than enamel, but gave a very shiny surface.

[Marie]

This left me gasping at the end. I had no idea that the narrator was just a boy...what a terrrible thing for him...

[Rene Velez]

Brilliant...

[David Scott]

Now you've gone to medling David. Ha.
I liked how you gave me a hint that this was actually about the forces of good and evil in this word. "Caught deep in the devil's smog", "I knew what it was to be blind", and of course the obvious last line, "Where was He in the smog". You pose a good series of questions here and propose no arbitrary answeres. You just open a door, or a book, and say to the reader, "You are not the only one wondering around in this smog." A kind reflection for those who do not need to be told fairytales...

[Tarry Franck]

This is very sad that you such an experience like this at any age. Enjoyed reading it. You did a great job expressing this.

[Leigh]

This reminds me of that foggy smoggy time they had in London in the 1950s/1960s that they were talking about on the radio, that caused a lot of deaths and mishaps. Lovely write David

[william keepers]

This is brilliant David! So very descriptive with an almost complete lack of imagery, but of course how else would one convey the utter blindness that is experienced in a smog so dense? How traumatic this must have been, impaled upon the memory forever. It reminds me of a time when I was fifteen and saw the body of a woman pulled from a car accident. No one knew I was watching from behind a thatch of tall grass, nor did I ever mention it until now... How ironic.

[Emerald Seas]

Perfect - as is to be expected from you, David. How I've missed reading your stories and style.